Once, We Were Stolen

by Courtney Symons

Violet poured herself a second glass of wine, and topped up Jeremy as well.

  “What about the most basic decisions though? Like sexuality?” She decided to make a conversational leap that she hoped wouldn’t be too obvious.

  “I don’t know,” Jeremy said, confused. “I guess it’s just one of those instinct things.”

  “But is it?” she asked. “What if it’s just so engrained in us at birth that we’re supposed to fall in love with the opposite sex so that we can make babies, that some of us don’t really have a choice?”

  Jeremy was uncomfortable. “I don’t know,” he said again.

  Violet let out the memory that had led her there. “One night after I finished a shift at work, a friend offered me a ride home on her motorcycle. She was new to the job and I didn’t know her well. She was pretty, but she’d be mad if you told her so, I think. She wore a leather jacket. We both got off the evening shift at the same time, and I started to call a cab. My car was in the shop and my mom was busy that night. Her name was Farrah. Like she should have the big feathery bangs, but she didn’t. She had bleached blonde, jagged hair that made you want to just muss it up even more than it was.

  “Anyways, she saw I was calling a cab and offered me a ride home. I’d never been on a motorcycle before. I said yes, even though I was a bit nervous, and she reached into a bucket under her seat to get out an extra helmet. I fumbled with the buckle, but I didn’t get it quite right. She was already on the bike at this point, so I just hopped on behind her. I had to hold on really tight, she told me to, because she took her corners hard.” She smiled at the recklessness of youth. “So I sat behind her with my hands squeezed around her waist.

  “All of a sudden, I felt the helmet clasp come loose, and then it just flew off. I didn’t even say anything right away. I had no idea what to say, I felt so uncool and like I might have just ruined her helmet forever. Eventually, I had to tap her on the shoulder and shout in her ear what had happened. We turned around, and there was a man on the sidewalk just holding the helmet up, so confused. I guess it had skidded onto the sidewalk. So much could have gone wrong, but there were no cars on the road, and the helmet didn’t even have a dent in it. Farrah just laughed. She did my helmet up for me that time.

  “I got back onto the bike and I held on even more tightly. A minute later I was home and I was thanking her and took off the helmet. I barely knew this girl, but I reached in and gave her a big hug. She hugged me back, and we held on for much longer than I thought we would.” She thought about it. “Maybe five seconds. That doesn’t sound like a lot, but it is when it’s someone you just met.

  “I always wondered if she wanted to kiss me, or if I should’ve kissed her. Maybe I misread her, but there was something there. She quit working at the restaurant soon after, so I didn’t see her much. But I feel like, if I hadn’t have held back, I would’ve wanted to kiss her.”

  She looked over at Jeremy. The story had been meant to turn him on. It was true, it had happened just the way she had told it, but she’d never told anyone else before.

  “Well,” Jeremy added, “In ancient Roman times, it was considered more respectable to have a homosexual relationship than a heterosexual one. Women were the baby-makers, but they weren’t who the men turned to when they wanted real physical pleasure.”

  Not the reaction she’d been hoping for.

  “Good point,” she said wryly. “If no one ever told us it was wrong to love someone of the same sex, I wonder what would happen.”

  “I guess we’ll never know,” Jeremy said. “But I’ve always felt that you shouldn’t be judged for who you fall in love with.”

  She looked at him sharply then. She would be judged if she loved him. But how could she? Why would she? Her wine glass was empty and she remedied that using what little was left in the bottle.

  “There’s another one inside,” Jeremy said. “How’s your head feeling?”

  “A bit better, she said, holding her cool glass to her forehead. “The wine is helping.”

  “It is or it isn’t?” he asked. He hadn’t heard her.

  “It is,” she clarified. “Hey Jeremy?”

  “Yes?” He was tending the fire but looked at her when she said his name.

  “When you think about me, what do you see?”

  He paused. He didn’t understand the question, but didn’t want her to know. “I see a young, beautiful girl who has a lot ahead of her.” Maybe she was still seeking affirmation from her decision-making phobia.

  “That’s nice,” she said, “But I mean, do you see me as a sister? A daughter? A friend? Or something else?”

  “Oh. Well. I’ve never tried to put it in words before. Sort of like a daughter.”

  Violet tried not to grimace.

  “I’m sorry, I know that’s weird to admit.” He would never have done so if he hadn’t drank so much wine. “But also like a friend. I like talking to you and just being around you.”

  Violet leaned in towards him gradually. She didn’t want him to know she was moving closer. “But do you ever think about me the way I thought about Farrah?”

  Seduction was coming more easily to her than she had imagined. The wine smoothed her words and she didn’t feel dirty or cheap. She wanted to whisper in his ear.

  Jeremy swallowed. He didn’t say anything for awhile, and then he did. “I – It’s crossed my mind,” he admitted.

  “Really? So you’ve thought about what it might feel like if I were to lean in, like this, and kiss you?” A pause that felt like a lifetime. “Like this?” And she did.

  She had thought it might take longer. She’d been planning to wait until she knew Ben was sleeping soundly in bed, until even the crickets had quieted, until the dead of night. But she hadn’t needed to. She didn’t want to.

  His lips were soft, and they held on. It wasn’t over in an instant. Neither of them recoiled in horror. They held on.

  When Violet finally pulled back, she felt a little dizzy. Her eyes didn’t open as quickly as she wanted them to. They were leaden. Glancing at Jeremy then, she would have guessed he’d look transformed. More handsome, more repulsive, different in some way. But he was the exact same. The expectant eyes were the same ones he had always given her, with just a bit more urgency.

  “What was that?” he asked. She wasn’t sure. Before she could decode it, stamp meaning on it and be too embarrassed to continue, she leaned in again. Kissed him harder. Her hands stuck to her sides, pasted like glue, but she felt his move onto her; there was one on the small of her back, and the other crawled to the nape of her neck. They were just where she wanted his hands to be.

  Her leaden arms grew light. They reached around his neck. His sweater felt thick and fleecy beneath her fingers, and she was filled with an urge to feel his bare skin against her own. His shoulders would be freckled. She could picture it in her mind.

  Their lips formed a rhythm quickly, in a way that some people never can and that others take time to get just right. It was like their lips knew what the other wanted.

  He kissed softly, gently, with more passion than urgency. He held her tightly, and she tried to ignore the fact that it made her feel safe.

  Jeremy’s mind raced. He was convinced he must be in an alternate reality. Maybe he’d fallen asleep, or was lost deeply in a reverie while Violet sat beside him saying, Jeremy? Hello?, wondering where he had gone.

  But it didn’t end. She kept kissing him, each deeper than the one before. He was so confused. She wouldn’t want to do this with him, why would she? How could she?

  His body felt liquid, warm and unstable. He monitored her level of passion. He would match it, but not exceed it. There was not a bone in his body that would have allowed him to kiss her. She was untouchable. But here she was, touching him.

  His conscience forced his vocal chords to act up. “Violet,” he said amidst kisses, “What are we doing?”

  “Just shut up,” she said. It wasn’t playful, it was a plea. He pulled away.

&nb
sp; “I’m sorry,” he said, “It’s just that Ben is right inside and I don’t want him to see this. I don’t know what he would think.”

  Violet cursed under her breath because she knew he was right. She felt embarrassed.

  “Okay,” she said looking at him intensely. “I’m going to go up to my bedroom and stay in there with the door closed. Ben will probably go to sleep soon after. When he’s asleep, come knock on my door and I’ll tell you to come in. Will you do that?” she asked.

  He didn’t know if he could, but nodded his head in apparent agreement. She nodded back, and bent to pick up her wine glass and the empty bottle. “See you soon,” she said with a lopsided smirk.

  He heard her breathe a huge sigh as she walked away. He hadn’t been meant to hear it, of that he was sure. He had no idea what it meant. Was it relief or disgust or excitement? If he knocked on her door, he might find out the answer. But he wouldn’t.

  Violet’s silhouette stood out in the glow of the doorway as she opened it to go inside. She paused, but shut the door behind her.

  This time, Jeremy was the one exhaling. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. He sat still for a long time watching the logs burn down, the embers holding on to the heat of flames that had faded long ago.

  The hose had never been fully put away since Ben had destroyed the back yard with his Jeep. He drenched the last of the burning coals and listened to their sizzle. It was such a satisfying, long-lasting sound. Slowly, he headed back inside, unsure what he would do next.

  Ben was in bed, Jeremy could tell from the lack of noise. He climbed the stairs, slowly, skipping the third board for the squeak. Violet’s door was closed, Ben’s also. He pressed his head against the youngest one’s door, convincing himself that he heard steady breathing coming from within.

  Jeremy stood frozen in the hallway. He knew what he wanted to do, but knew also that he shouldn’t. He didn’t want to ruin her trust, make her feel violated. Such a shame that her name was so close to that word, violate. His feet refused to move, even to turn him away from the door. His mouth opened and shut with indecision.

  No good could come of him knocking on her door. Short-term good, yes, but surely not long-term. He was about to turn away but the doorknob turned instead. Violet opened the door slowly wearing all of her clothes; no sexy nightgown or anything scary. Her bright purple sweater still sat atop her shoulders and covered her belly. She was beautiful.

  He couldn’t resist. “You’re beautiful.”

  Jeremy wasn’t sure what she was thinking. She looked at him strangely. It was an expression that could as easily have been hatred as affection. Taking a step back, away, he felt a hand on his arm.

  “I’m coming with you,” she said. Where Jeremy had planned to go was downstairs, to the kitchen, back to the bottle of wine. But that’s not where she meant. Grabbing him by the hand, Violet led him towards his bedroom. She looked back at him. The message she tried to convey with her eyes was, It’s alright, come with me.

  The message he got was, Don’t say another word.

  27

  Jeremy’s hand was in hers. Violet wasn’t sure how it had gotten there. She must have grabbed it. Their fingers were locked together and they fit more nicely than either of them imagined.

  Violet sat down on the bed. She had no wine glass to hold now. There was nothing to look down at, to fiddle with, to take a sip of when she didn’t know what to say. It was only her and him, in his bedroom, at night. The inevitability of what was to happen made her cringe, but they were trapped in the moment before it began; the moment where they just sat looking at one another.

  Are you serious? Violet thought. I have to make another move? She’d never had to do this before. Any other boy she’d shown interest in had taken it from there, had leaned in and touched her chin and kissed her like he meant it. But Jeremy did nothing. He sat rigidly beside her, his hands clamped to his body.

  “You can kiss me now,” she said softly.

  All he needed was permission. He leaned in slowly. He grabbed her chin, just as she’d mentally ordered, and kissed her firmly. His weight gently eased her backwards until they were lying down together. Jeremy’s fingers twirled strands of her hair. The opposite hand ran up and down her back.

  Jeremy was trying to hide his shaking. His solution was to keep kissing her, over and over, so that she wouldn’t notice him tremor.

  They lay on his bed together, on top of the blankets, fully clothed. Violet waited patiently for his hands to stray downwards, to linger on her breasts then tickle her belly button then reach for the elastic of her underwear. It was the natural path for them to take. But his hands stayed on the small of her back and tangled in her hair. They would not move. They caressed and slightly relocated, but they would not move down or under.

  Violet grabbed Jeremy’s hand and pressed it to her breast but he pulled it back quickly. “No,” he said firmly.

  “What do you mean, no?” Violet said, trying to decide if she was about to feel offended, hurt, embarrassed or a mix of them all.

  “We can’t do this,” Jeremy said. She had never met anyone who shook his head so much. “We can’t do this.”

  “Yes, we can Jeremy. It’s okay. I want to. I’m here because I chose to be.” She was surprised at how calm she sounded. Not a trace of a quiver. If she didn’t know any better, she would have convinced herself.

  She pressed his hand to her left breast again, harder this time. Forcefully, as if she would not take no for an answer. She reached for his lips, but he pulled away.

  “Violet, I can’t,” he said quietly. “We can’t. Not right now. Not like this. I would never forgive myself.”

  “Jeremy, there’s nothing to forgive!” She was exasperated now. “You won’t need forgiveness. I am old enough to make these decisions, and I’m fully aware of what I’m doing. It’s okay.”

  Violet wondered then if it was worth it, begging to bed her captor. Embarrassment began to seep in.

  Maybe he doesn’t want me. Relentlessly, she pressed her body against his and fought to meet his lips with hers. He held on to her tightly, his hands still stationed on her, but he would not kiss her again.

  “Violet, no. I won’t.” She knew he meant it; there was no changing his mind. She felt like she’d been slapped. Here she was, tipsy and young and vibrant, in the bed of a man who would likely never again get next to the likes of her, and he shunned her.

  She tried to turn her body away from him. The strength wasn’t in her to get out of that bed, but she wanted him to know she’d been stung. He held on tightly and ran his fingers through her hair, reaching around to stroke her cheek. The tears on them met his finger and dissipated.

  “Trust me, it has nothing to do with not wanting to,” he assured her. “But you’ve had some wine and you hit your head earlier, and I’ve never done this before.” The three-tiered excuse spewed out of his lips so quickly that Violet only caught a few words. But she heard the last part.

  “You’ve never been with a woman?” she asked quietly and curiously.

  “I’ve never been with anyone,” he admitted to her. “That’s probably not much of a surprise. And I just… Violet, you’re Violet. You deserve someone who knows what they’re doing, someone who is confident and self-assured. I’ll just stumble around and it’ll be uncomfortable for both of us.”

  Violet was struck with the urge to tell him that she’d teach him, guide his hands in the right direction and tell his fingers when to stop. The thought didn’t disgust her. But she didn’t do any of it, not then.

  Instead, she settled her hips into a neutral position and stopped thrusting them in his direction. She put her hands on his shoulders and turned her body to face him. Never had she been so close.

  “Is that a chicken pox scar on your temple?” she asked.

  “Oh, that,” he fingered the small crater. “Yeah, it is. I have tons of them. We didn’t have any calamine lotion. Come to think of it,” he cocked his head, “I’
m not even sure if my parents knew I had them. I sort of just suffered through it, but I scratched too much.”

  Violet had started smiling a few words in. “Me too,” she said. “I had calamine and everything, but I still scratched. My legs were covered in them, and I clawed at them in the night. Sometimes I didn’t even know I was doing it, and I’d wake up with blood under my nails.”

  She felt the urge to share the little stories she had about her body, to map out her physical history. “You see this?” she asked, pointing to the top of her left arm, above her armpit. He nodded.

  “It’s my butterfly birthmark. Can you see the butterfly? When I was young, it was really dark. It’s faded now, but you can see it if you try.”

  It was a stretch. He saw two bars of colour on her arm but couldn’t make out the butterfly. He nodded again. He could pretend to see it for her sake.

  “And this one too,” she said, pointing to the big toe on her right foot. “See that scar? Ben and I were playing hide-and-seek or tag or something and I was chasing him. He hid in the bathroom but I was right behind him and he slammed the door on my toe. Sliced it right open. I had to get five stitches.”

  “Ouch,” Jeremy said, reaching to touch the scar. Violet flinched but recovered quickly.

  “The funny part is, I don’t remember it hurting. I know my brother started to cry when he saw the blood because he felt bad. My mom sat with me while they stitched it up and she went white, but I remember thinking it was more exciting than anything else.”

  When Jeremy allowed himself to close his eyes, he felt dizzy and intoxicated. He felt like he could breathe in the scent of her hair for hours and wondered how long it was acceptable for him to just lie there, stroking her back. She leaned in to him and he felt her body fully relax against his. Her breathing slowed. He didn’t have long before she would be asleep and oblivious to his attempts to make her feel good in his arms.

  “Hey Violet?” he asked quietly.

  “Mmm?” she mumbled.

  “Can I kiss you goodnight?”